


A Little Fun Never Hurt Anyone

by cheesethesecond



Category: Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Skee-Ball Injuries, Sneaky angst, Unsound Medical Advice, Walking Disaster Gotou Shintarou, couch makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesethesecond/pseuds/cheesethesecond
Summary: Date has some unorthodox training methods. Gotou does nothing by halves.





	A Little Fun Never Hurt Anyone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fizzygingr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzygingr/gifts).

> This was an entirely self-indulgent birthday gift for fizzygingr, born after one conversation we had about Gotou being TERRIBLE at arcade games and another about how I really just wanted Date to scoop Gotou up and carry him around. This fic is the result. Somehow she convinced me to share it with the masses.

“I don’t understand, Date-san,” Gotou says.

Date grins. He shoves a beer into one of Gotou’s hands, a plastic cup full of gold tokens in the other. “I told you, Gotou-chan. It’s training.”

Gotou looks warily around at the rows of machines with their blinking lights and cheerful music. “I still don’t see how this is going to help me become Birth.”

“Hand-eye coordination,” Date says, taking a swig of his own beer.

Gotou raises an eyebrow.

“Reflexes, Gotou-chan!” Date motions towards a Hello Kitty pinball machine along the back wall. “Train ‘em up!”

Gotou sighs and sets his beer down on a side table, then squares his shoulders and heads for the pinball machine like he’s marching into battle.

Date frowns. “Hey, you left your—”

“If this is training,” Gotou says, scowling at the round white cat on the machine’s display, glaring into its button eyes, “then I’m going to take it seriously.”

He places a token into the slot, hands ready on the buttons, and lets the first ball fly. It jostles around in the upper workings of the machine for a moment, pink and purple lights flashing, before plummeting directly between the flippers at the bottom. A woeful little jingle echoes from the speakers. Gotou’s eyes narrow.

“I think,” Date says, “I might’ve made a mistake here.”

*

Turns out, Gotou Shintarou is terrible at pinball.

He’s also terrible at Pacman, Space Invaders, Galaga, and Street Fighter.

He’s bad at every single game Date sits him down in front of, though he approaches each one as if his life depended on mastering it, slipping a new coin into the slot with the solemnity of a man facing certain doom.

It’s kind of funny at first, Date thinks, the way Gotou’s brow furrows at the screen, the little crease between his eyes, how he’ll catch his tongue between his teeth when he’s really concentrating. It’s cute. It becomes less so when Gotou’s shoulders start tensing up, his jaw clenched in visible frustration. 

“Hey,” Date says, setting his beer aside while Gotou blinks, dazed, at the flaming, pixelated wreckage of a crashed racecar. He’d run it into a wall at top speed. There weren’t even other cars around. Date’s kind of impressed. “Listen—”

“I’m a good driver,” Gotou says.

“I know you are, Gotou-chan.”

“I don’t understand.” His hands are white knuckled on the steering wheel.

Date pats his back and feels the sweat soaking through his shirt, sees it coating the short strands of hair on the back of his neck. “It’s just a game, Gotou-chan.”

“It’s not,” Gotou says. “You said this was supposed to help me become Birth.”

“Maybe don’t listen to everything I say, yeah?”

“If I can’t even do this…” Gotou hangs his head.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Date says, grabbing Gotou’s arm and pulling him up from the seat of the driving game. “Time to leave, okay? Time for lunch. Oden sound good to you? Let’s go.”

He wraps a hand around Gotou’s elbow and steers him towards the door, only to have Gotou dig his heels in just before the exit.

“Wait,” Gotou says, removing his arm from Date’s grasp.

Date follows Gotou’s gaze to a dusty, semi-abandoned pair of skee-ball machines in the corner. Half of the lights in their displays are missing, and the music coming from the speakers sounds tinny and distorted. The look in Gotou’s eyes is determined, almost reverent, like he’s witnessing his salvation.

Date shrugs and hands Gotou one more token.

A little skee-ball never hurt anyone.

*

Gotou sprains his ankle playing skee-ball.

Date doesn’t mean to laugh.

He _doesn’t_ laugh at first. Not when Gotou sinks his first four balls directly in the lowly ten-point hole. Not when he tosses his fifth ball so slowly it barely makes it halfway up the ramp before rolling back to him, or when he throws his sixth so hard it ricochets off the side and launches onto the ramp of the machine beside it. Two more ten-pointers, and a little guilt starts to gnaw in Date’s belly. He certainly hadn’t meant to psychically torment Gotou with this outing, and to be honest, he’s not entirely sure how they got to this point.

When Gotou clenches the ninth and final ball between both hands, Date laughs nervously and says, “You _really_ don’t have to—”

When Gotou takes a few cautious steps back, then a few more, Date says, “This doesn’t _matter_, Gotou-chan!”

When Gotou takes a running start at the skee-ball machine, Date doesn’t say anything at all.

He’s not totally clear on what happens next, if Gotou’s foot hits a wet patch on the ground, if his ankle twists out from under him, if he stubs his toe or trips over his own feet or gravity itself conspires against him. All he knows is that one minute, Gotou is running at the skee-ball machine like he’s going to physically attack it, face curled in a snarl, and the next he’s flat on his back, blinking up at the ceiling, the ball rolling away into the center of the room.

“Gotou!” Date drops down beside Gotou and helps him sit up, already scanning for injuries. He notices the way Gotou winces when he puts pressure on his foot, and pushes his leg back down with a gentle hand on his knee. “What the hell, Gotou-chan. Are you alright?”

Gotou looks up at him, eyes mournful, and says, “I’m ready to go home now, Date-san.”

And Date bursts out laughing.

He swears he doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t feel _good_ about it. Gotou certainly isn’t amused, glaring daggers at Date while the owner of the bar comes over with an awed look on his face.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” the owner says.

A small crowd is starting to gather around them, and Date manages to get himself back under control. He puts one hand on Gotou’s back and slips an arm under his knees. “Hold on to me okay?”

“You don’t have to carry me, Date-san, I can walk,” Gotou insists, but after a stern glance from Date, does as he’s told.

“Can I take a picture of you for our wall of achievements?” the owner asks, waving towards the rows of polaroid photos behind him. “You didn’t get a high score, but I don’t think anyone else will ever do what you just did.”

“Absolutely not,” Date answers cheerfully, taking pity on Gotou as he lifts him into his arms and Gotou flushes red to the tips of his ears. “Have a nice day.”

Gotou doesn’t say a word on their way back to Cous Coussier—closer to the arcade than either Gotou’s apartment or Dr. Maki’s lab—so Date talks for the both of them, babbling on about a new oden place he saw opening up down the street, and the weird clothes Maki bought for his creepy doll, and how maybe he could get Kougami to make Gotou a “Get Well Soon” cake. Some of the tension releases in Gotou’s shoulders, but he still won’t look Date in the eye.

Date pushes the door to Cous Coussier open with his shoulder, silently hoping there aren’t too many people around to witness Gotou’s humiliation. The restaurant is blessedly free of customers, but Eiji and Hina are sitting together on the couch against the back wall, gaping at Date and Gotou as they enter.

“Date-san!” Eiji says, jumping to his feet. “Gotou-san! What happened?”

Gotou buries his face in Date’s shoulder.

“Ah, just a training accident,” Date says, squeezing Gotou’s arm lightly, and Gotou sighs, a relieved _whoosh_ of air tickling Date’s neck. “Nothing too serious, but if you could grab me a first aid kit and some ice…”

“Here, set him down here.” Hina motions to the couch. “I’ll get the kit.”

“I’ll get the ice,” Eiji says, and they both bustle out of the room.

Date lowers Gotou onto the couch and drags over a small table, propping Gotou’s foot up on it.

“There you go. Rest, ice, compression, elevation, and you’ll be good as new,” he says, taking a seat beside Gotou and patting his thigh. He smiles at Gotou, the biggest, brightest, most charming grin he can muster, but Gotou still glowers down at his hands, cheeks brushed faintly pink.

Date feels like an ass.

“C’mon, Gotou-chan, cheer up,” he says, wrapping an arm around Gotou’s shoulders and tapping a finger under his chin. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Gotou says. “I failed at every—”

“_Relax_.” Date cups the back of Gotou’s head and shakes it lightly. “All I wanted you to do today was relax. Loosen up. Have some fun.”

Gotou looks a little betrayed. “You told me we were training.”

Date sighs. “We were, kind of.” He tips his head back against the couch and guides Gotou’s head to his shoulder. “You’re so hard on yourself, Gotou-chan. I just wanted to…ah, I don’t know, I just wanted you to forget about saving the world for a day, you know? Take a little of that burden off your shoulders.”

Gotou is quiet for a moment. Date rubs at his arm, thinking maybe he’s getting the silent treatment he probably deserves, until Gotou says, “I can’t forget about it. Not if I’m going to be Birth someday.”

“Being Birth isn’t all about fighting yummies,” Date says. “I mean…okay, it kind of is. But transforming and having that kind of power, the power to save people…you’re a _superhero_ when you’re wearing the suit. And if you don’t learn to enjoy it, if you don’t have a little fun with it…” Date swallows and tugs Gotou closer. “The weight of it is going to _kill_ you.” He presses his mouth to the top of Gotou’s head. “I won’t hand off Birth to you if it's going to destroy you, Gotou-chan. I can’t.”

Gotou pulls away and sits up, pinning Date with a look that’s hard to read. Date straightens and smiles at Gotou, because it's what he does when he’s not sure what else to do, when he can’t read a situation as well as he’d like. He thinks Gotou might be gearing up for a fight.

He definitely doesn’t expect Gotou to kiss him.

Date makes an _mmpf_ sound of surprise against Gotou’s mouth, and Gotou presses even closer, wrapping a hand around the back of Date’s neck. Date closes his eyes and kisses back, bringing a hand up against Gotou’s cheek and grinning against his mouth. They kiss—Gotou scritching gently at Date’s nape and Date nipping at Gotou’s bottom lip, smoothing over it with his tongue just to hear the way Gotou inhales sharply through his nose—until Gotou pulls back. Date keeps him close, frames both hands around Gotou’s ears and nudges their foreheads together, laughing softly.

“Sorry,” Gotou breathes into the space between their mouths.

Date laughs again. “What the hell are you sorry for, Gotou-chan? I’m seeing stars.”

The smallest, barest twitch of a smile forms at the corner of Gotou’s mouth, and Date wants to kiss him again. “I didn’t think you…I didn’t know if you’d want—”

Date _does_ kiss him again, then, mostly to silence that line of thinking. Of course he does. Gotou is tough and sweet and resolute and beautiful. Of course he wants.

“You have to take care of yourself too, Date-san,” Gotou says, leaning back and placing a firm hand on Date’s chest to keep him from following. “If Birth ever…if you ever start feeling the weight of it…I _need _you to take care of yourself."

Something flutters in Date’s stomach, a little soft, a little heavy. “I’m a-okay, Gotou-chan, promise,” he says, and almost convinces himself it’s not a lie. Almost believes it.

Gotou nods and puts a hand on the side of Date’s face, strokes his thumb under Date’s eye, serious as can be. “I’m glad. You’re…important to me, Date-san.”

“Ditto, kiddo,” Date says, and Gotou rolls his eyes before his face breaks into a genuine smile. Date basks in it. “Now, as your physician, it’s my duty to make sure you feel better.”

“Oh,” Gotou says, looking around. “Right. Where did Hino go with that ice?”

“Who knows,” Date says, not taking his eyes off Gotou. He grabs Gotou’s legs—careful of the ankle—and swings them around so they’re resting across his lap. Gotou wraps his arms around Date’s neck in surprise, his eyes widening.

“How’s your foot?” Date asks, low and close, his nose brushing Gotou’s.

“Uh, okay,” Gotou says. “Should we go find Hina? She must have found that first-aid kit by now…”

“I think first we should make out on the couch until you’re feeling better than just _okay_, yeah?” Date kisses the corner of Gotou’s eye, his cheek, his jaw. “Doctor’s orders.”

“That’s…” Gotou’s eyes slip closed. “That’s really illogical medical advice, Date-san.”

“It’s a new kind of treatment,” Date says, between the little pecks he places all over Gotou’s face. “Advanced. Never been tested. Highly experimental. Controversial in some circles, but I’m all about taking risks, Gotou-chan.”

Gotou laughs. “Please shut up and kiss me.”

“Right, okay, yeah,” Date says, and does.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi @cheesethesecond on Twitter!


End file.
